On Wednesday, Paris was dark, overcast, wet, and rainy -- terrible condition for a long walk through town. That was exactly my plan; after blogging, and hoping that the rain would go away of its own accord, I set off, at about 10:50 in the morning for the Musee Marmottan Monet, located in the northern half of the 16e arrondissement in Paris: this might have been my longest walk in Paris, and certainly the longest walk I have taken since the start of classes. The rain was on-and-off, but I got the chance to see some parts of the city I have never visited before, on the rive droite. My Turkish friend once remarked that the neighborhood in the southeast 14e arrondissement where the Cite Universitare International is located is trรจs bourgeois, and I think he’s right. Paris has its fair share of poverty, beyond the ubiquitous homeless beggars whom I mention so frequently: I’m talking about cramped, lousy housing, etc, with high concentrations of racial and national minorities.
In any case, I eventually made it to the Marmottan at nearly 1:00 exactly. On the way, I passed the UNESCO building, which is apparently something of a local monument. The walls were covered with a thick covering of luscious green moss, and there is what appears to be a duck pond out front. Later, in the small park just across the way from the museum, however, I saw what is by far my favorite statue in Paris: a bronze monument to Jean de La Fontaine, the famous writer of fables, peering down at two of his most famous characters, the Fox and the Crow, which, if you remember the August entry on Parisian children, I mentioned that most French children can still recount from heart. Then it was into the museum, where no photos are allowed. The Marmottan Monet is an impressionist museum, featuring mostly Monet’s work, but also a few canvases by Cezanne, Degas, Pissarro, Sisley (I mentioned that I like him, didn’t I?), etc. There were several striking portraits of several of the impressionists (most notably Monet) and of their close family members.
It was very interesting to see Monet’s lesser-known works, some of which I found, well, ugly. Messy Japanese bridges, sloppy water-lilies, and bland Scandinavian landscapes were all the product of his palette (which I saw, along with his pipe, his pen, and the knife he used to sharpen it). Nor was there a strict chronological arc to the quality of his work: he painted good and bad paintings throughout his artistic career. His best paintings are those which strike a balance between the abstract techniques of impressionism, and the capacity of these techniques to nonetheless immediately depict real objects. When he lost his grip on his control of color, his paintings turned out sloppy, much like Jackson Pollack’s paintings; when his colors were too drab and representative, his paintings aren’t any better than Cezanne’s. For all of this, there are some beautiful Monet tableaux on display at the Marmottan: locomotives in the snow, water-lilies, Britain’s Parliament building, and, of course, Impression: soleil levant, the painting which gave the Impressionism movement its name.
The temporary exhibit was possibly even more interesting than the permanent collections. The topic was Neo-Impressionism, specifically, the work of the painter Henry Cross, and his collaboration with Georges Seurat, but also with several other Neo-Impressionists, such as Maximilien Luce. As with so much other art, I can’t explain exactly why, but I enjoyed looking at this “Neo-Impressionism,” distinguished from Impressionism by its smaller brushstrokes, and sharper distinctions between different bordering objects in the composition (to my eyes, anyway). The Neo-Impressionists had some truly excellent paintings of rural life, of boats, of bodies of water. At first, they painted using a technique known as pointillism, the use of tiny dots of color; later, around 1895, their brushstrokes became true strokes, but still remained small and concentrated. I really enjoyed Cross's pictures of lapping waves, of families of goats, of families of ducks, and of sunlight glinting off the water. Like Cezanne, he also painted naked women, but while Cezanne's tend to be bathing, Cross's are dancing and frolicking. Cross went through a fauvist phase, according to the art historians, but to be honest, I can't see much of a difference. All I know is that I enjoy looking at his paintings!
I left the museum, crossed back over the Seine, and arrived at the Musee Quai Branly, the Parisian anthropological museum. It was a bit of a shock upon first entering the building: unlike every other museum in this town, the Musee Quai Branly was built as a museum, and isn't simply a converted 17th-, 18th-, or 19th-century mansion! I was also surprised by the clientele: now I know where Parisians bring their five-to-ten-year-old children! There were so many little boys running around the exhibits!The line for the temporary exhibit on the samurai was very long (more than a 30-minute wait), so I decided to explore the fairly large permanent exhibits. The museum was divided into four sections: the Americas, Oceania, Asia, and Africa. I made it through all but Africa before I ran out of juice at 6:00, and decided to leave. While I was there, however, I saw some amazing objects: Zapotec and Mixtec rain idols, 2000-year old funerary masks from Colombia, statues of Quetzalcoatl, Taino shamanic vomiting spatulas, paintings by George Catlin of Plains Indians, Mohawk wampum, and artifacts from New Guinean "men's houses." I found a couple of amulets from Jewish populations of the Middle East, which I always find fascinating (I have been interested in "folk Judaic" talismans since I read the excellent Cultures of the Jews, especially the article on magic by Shalom Sabar). There were also some excellent pieces from India, although I'll admit that my favorite was a tiny bronze figurine of an airplane and pilot, sculpted around 1900, and probably meant for a local altar. I also saw a few Southeast Asian artifacts, although nothing was as impressive as what I had seen at the Musee Guimet. There was another bronze Dong Son drum, even larger than the first, and ornamented with frogs, as well as some beautifully-decorated Thai and Burman pots for betel nuts.
Eventually, I couldn't look at anything more, and wandered out, eventually finding a Metro station, riding to Port Royal, where I proudly spend my 64th and final meal ticket (I won). I returned to the dorm, and found myself involved in a number of tasks until past midnight, including trying to find a way to responsibly dispose of my pile of recycling. I finished packing at nearly 2:00 a.m., and awoke the next morning a bit before 8:00. I was out the door around 9:00, leaving my reusable Franprix bag with some foodstuffs and a few other articles outside of Jamie's room (again, Jamie, thank you for being such an awesome neighbor!). I hopped on the RER B, rode it to Charles to Gaulle, and went through the whole airport gauntlet. On the shuttle bus, I met a French family when I held the hand of their (very cute) little girl, so that she wouldn't fall over, and they wished me very happy holidays, in both languages. On the flight itself, which left slightly late, at about 1:30, I sat next to a girl my own age from Surinam, attending American University in Paris (trilingual, plus some Spanish; I don't know how some people can manage that), and read Voltaire's Siecle de Louis XIV, although I had difficulty at times with the turbulence. They fed me twice on the plane: I was surprised.
I arrived in Philadelphia, and was off to another security-customs-baggage gamut. I ran it, and the Agriculture section neutralized the banana and two kiwis that were in my backpack. They were very friendly about it though. In fact, all of the guards and officers on the American side of the border were friendly, and it took me some time to catch on that I was not encountering a series of unusually friendly personnel, but rather, a different culture than the one I have been living in for the past several months. On paper, I had a 6-hour wait, but it was really only a 3-hour wait, because of customs, the passage to the proper terminal, security, and the call to my Mother that I made to let her know that all was well, and that I was safe in Philadelphia airport. I ate the non-confiscated food, and then bought a couple of muffins to supplement it (I think I would just have preferred the fresh fruit). I nearly fell asleep before the 9:30 flight to Ithaca boarded, and I actually did fall asleep, while we were still taxiing, and 4th in line to take off. I sat next to a fellow Ithacan and IHS grad, class of 2004, who was returning home for the holidays. When I woke up, we were descending: somehow, I made it out of the plane, and was met by my wonderful parents. We drove back in the pouring rain, and I made it into bed around midnight.
I woke up the next morning around 8:00 a.m., shaved, and ate breakfast with my parents. My Dad, who is sick, headed off to work, and I spent until around 12:30 unpacking and organizing. It was sleeting, so I didn't take a run. Now it's evening: I'm warm, clean, and possibly even already adjusted to the time zone. Sam is coming home this evening. What more could I want? I'm home.
~JD
"J'ai trop aime la guerre; ne m'imitez pas en cela, non plus que dans les trop grandes depenses que j'ai faites. Prenez conseil en toutes choses..." [I loved war too much; do not imitate me in this, nor in the excessive expenditures that I made. Accept counsel in all matters] (Deathbed letter from Louis XIV to the Dauphin, as cited in Voltaire, Le Siecle de Louis XIV, 651).
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